My Dearest Cal by Sherryl Woods

reached the stable, she was not fully prepared for the overpowering scents that greeted her as Roddy led her into the first stall to be mucked out. He showed her how to rake out the filthy straw and replace it with clean, while the horses were either in the paddock or being worked on the track. Though in many ways the barn was a lot cleaner than she would have imagined, there was no way to keep it spotless. The work was hot, smelly and tiring. The worst of it was that she didn’t seem to be learning anything about horses. They weren’t even around. She knew better than to complain, though. If Chaney was testing her mettle, she was determined to pass.
    By the time he came in to check her work, she had blisters on her hands, straw in her hair and dirt and dust from head to toe.
    “She did great,” Roddy told the manager. He pointed out the stalls she’d done entirely on her own, and Marilou found herself holding her breath as Chaney inspected them.
    “Not bad,” he finally said grudgingly.
    Marilou felt as if she’d been given a letter of commendation. “Thanks. What about tomorrow?”
    He actually came close to smiling at that. “You ain’t scared off yet?”
    She grinned back at him. “Not a chance.”
    “Then I’ll think on it tonight and we’ll figure out a plan.”
    “Thanks, Chaney.”
    If nothing else, the hard work had kept her from thinking too hard about Cal. He’d barely crossed her mind all morning. But once she was back at the house, she began to wonder just what he was going to think when he found out what she’d done. Chaney had been right about one thing: Cal was paying her to keep house, not to muck out stalls or even to plant a kitchen garden, for that matter.
    She didn’t have long to wait. Cal stormed into the kitchen with a scowl she could read from across the room. She immediately turned back to the sink. He came up behind her and reached for one of the blistered hands she was holding under the cool tap water.
    At the sight of the raw, broken skin, he muttered an oath. “Sit. Let me get some ointment.”
    “They’ll be fine,” she said without moving.
    “Not if they get infected,” he countered as he reached into a cupboard for a jar of cream. He nudged her toward a chair, then took her hands and soothed on the cool, white ointment. His touch was gentle, but the expression in his eyes was fierce, and Marilou knew he was only holding his anger in check temporarily. The instant he’d treated both hands, those cool gray eyes met hers and there was no doubt about the storm brewing.
    “What the devil did you think you were doing?” he demanded roughly. “I kept my mouth shut aboutthe damned garden, but this has gone too far. You’re not cut out for this kind of work.”
    “I won’t die from a few blisters.”
    “Maybe not, but did you ever consider the disruption to my staff? I’ve got a lovesick groom out there and a manager who’s still hooting over the sight of you with straw and horse dung from head to toe.”
    Marilou did not believe for one minute that Roddy was lovesick or that Chaney had been making fun of her. Cal was making excuses for his own reaction. He didn’t like the way she’d wheedled her way into another part of his life.
    “I had time on my hands.”
    “Then clean the damned closets. That’s what you’re being paid to do.”
    “The closets are cleaned, and don’t forget that this housekeeping game can end just as quickly as it began. You don’t take it seriously and neither do I.”
    “Then why don’t you just quit and go home?”
    “You know why.”
    “The letter,” he said.
    “That’s right. The letter. You haven’t even asked to see it.”
    “Fine. What the hell. Show it to me. Then maybe things can get back to normal around here.”
    “You mean where you’re the boss and the rest of us just bow and scrape?”
    “No, I mean when I don’t have some damned fool woman interfering in my life.”
    “You read that letter and call your